The Feel Of Heat And Metal On His Skin
by slythatheart
Summary: The rest of the world might think his boyfriend was a complete goofball, and okay, a lot of the time he was. But they never got to see him like this. Stiles was fucking sexy. - Set during the new school year, a few months after The Taste Of Sweat And Metal On His Tongue. Pretty gratuitous, be warned!
1. Chapter 1

**Notes: **I'm SO SORRY that this fic took so long to write. I started not long after I posted the first one but I got really bad writer's block and it just wasn't happening for me. I finally got my muse back for this fic a few weeks ago and I promised myself I'd get it done before the first episode of S3 airs. And look, I even have a few hours to spare! Thank you to Danielle, Gabe and Bibi for their help and cheerleading.

This is set after summer break, so the boys have been together a few months. I deliberately set the last one very ambiguously around the end of S2. I haven't taken into account any S3 spoilers (except Stiles' hair!) because I love Jackson so he's still around.

More notes at the end of the final chapter, but no triggers or anything...just lots and lots of sex, snark and sarcasm. Blowjobs, rimming, penetration and a ton of dirty talk because my headcanon says that Stiles loves words and when he is confident about something, he will talk on the subject - especially when he finds someone who wants to listen.

* * *

**T****he Feel Of Heat And Metal On His Skin**

**Chapter One**

"Hey Jackson, did you hear that Shelly Phillips got her tongue pierced? Hot, huh?"

Nate was leaning over Jackson's shoulder with a grin. He was close enough to peer down Lydia's top without looking obvious about it, but far back enough that he couldn't see Jackson rolling his eyes.

"That's great. I'm sure half the football team and _all_ of the basketball team are very excited," Jackson replied, annoyance coloring his tone. Danny didn't see how Nate could think he was getting away with anything; not only was Jackson onto him – Lydia's eyes were narrowing dangerously despite the fact that she hadn't even glanced up from her lunch. She just _knew_.

Lydia was pretty badass, Danny acknowledged, when her spoon _accidentally_ caught the rim of her yogurt cup, splattering several globs of the fruity smelling goop over the fly of Nate's pants.

"Whoops."

"Fuck, Lydia!"

"Sorry," she replied airily and clearly not sorry in the slightest.

Danny smirked behind the bottle of water he was drinking from. Stiles was beside him, practically vibrating in his seat with amusement. Danny dropped his free hand to his boyfriend's thigh, squeezing it gently.

"Better clean that up, Walters," Jackson smirked, "otherwise it's going to dry looking _very_ interesting."

Stiles snorted out a laugh, covering his mouth just a second too late.

"Whatever," Nate bit out, embarrassedly. He glared at Stiles, apparently considering him the safest target. "What are you laughing at, Stilinski?" he snapped, walking away and muttering under this breath. Danny could just catch the word _asshole_ and was frowning after him, contemplating getting up and wringing an apology out of the jerk when Stiles nudged him and shook his head with a smile. He didn't look at all bothered, so Danny resolved to let it go – for the time being, anyway.

"Maybe it will stain," Lydia mused with deceptive sweetness.

"Maybe I'll rip his eyeballs out," Jackson countered, glaring at the exit their teammate had left by.

"Maybe _I'll_ get _my_ tongue pierced," Stiles announced, cheekily. Danny's eyes widened at the wink Stiles shot his way. He wondered for a moment how much of the comment was serious and how much was aimed at breaking the tension Lydia and Jackson were stewing in. "You know," he amended, "once I go away to college and am therefore far enough away that Dad can't kill me."

If McCall were there instead of _definitely-not-with-Allison,_ he probably would have laughed and assumed Stiles was joking. Lydia continued to eat her yogurt, only reacting with a blink in Stiles' direction; Jackson, on the other hand, couldn't resist an opportunity to snipe – especially since he was still pissed over someone trying to eye-fuck his girlfriend's cleavage.

"First of all, Stilinski – _gross_. I don't care how much Danny likes it, the idea of you doing _anything_ sexual puts me off my food – and don't pretend that comment was innocent; Helen Keller could hear and see what you were doing there. And secondly, _as if_," Jackson scoffed. "You are a bigger baby than my little cousin Hailey, and she's nine. You'd take one look at a needle and cower behind McCall. Or Lydia."

Danny coughed, fingers tightening on Stiles' leg as he began spluttering and choking on the mouthful of sandwich he'd just been swallowing. Jackson smirked at him, obviously assuming that Danny found his comment funny, like Danny was trying not to laugh at his boyfriend. And it _was_ funny, but not for the reason Jackson thought.

Jackson had _no idea_.

Stiles patted Danny on the back with one hand as he brought a handful of fries to his mouth with the other. Danny could see that Stiles had only partially managed to conceal his grin. "Yeah," Stiles answered with his mouth half full, making Lydia grimace, "you're probably right."

"Probably?" Jackson laughed. "Stilinski, the day you get a body piercing is the day I trade my Porsche for McCall's pushbike."

Danny and Stiles shared a brief look, and Danny barely managed to stifle a laugh. Jackson was his best friend, but even Danny thought the look on his face would be hilarious if Stiles pulled up his shirt and showed Jackson his navel piercing, especially after that comment about his Porsche. Except that as Jackson's best friend, Danny had born witness to many of Jackson's worst temper tantrums and the humor of the situation probably wouldn't be worth the mood it triggered.

"Well," Stiles countered, having seemingly come to the same conclusion, "it would almost be worth the pain and mind numbing fear just to see that."

And okay, it _would_ have been funny, and Jackson could stand to show Stiles a little more respect, but Danny also felt a little relieved that Stiles hadn't come clean about his piercings. Not just because Jackson would be unbearable over it, but also because…well…Danny liked that he was the only one who knew. It was their secret – and a hot one, at that.

Jackson was getting snarky, face taking on his best douchebag expression, but Danny was too preoccupied watching Stiles and thinking about his piercings to shoot a preventative glance his way.

"You aren't fooling anyone, Stilinski. You're the cowardly lion, without the cool of being a lion. You're just a scared little bitch."

Danny snapped his eyes away from Stiles and back to Jackson – his words were just a little too cutting, his tone just a little too mean for Danny to let slide.

"Jackson," he warned at the same time as Lydia. Danny had snapped maybe a little sharper than he'd intended, while Lydia's tone was milder, barely chastising. Jackson's eyes flashed Danny a hurt look for a moment and his jaw clenched before he blanked his expression. He squared his shoulders, rolled his eyes at all of them and sighed.

"_Fine_," Jackson conceded in a pained tone, "I guess you aren't a _total_ loser like Danny's last boyfriend. But _still_," he added, "it's lucky for you that he suddenly decided that dull and wimpy is his type now."

He would have been annoyed with Jackson, if he couldn't tell that his best friend was actually _trying_. Not very hard, really, but it was a small victory regardless.

"Careful with the compliments there, Jackson," Stiles replied sardonically as he leaned into Danny's side with a grin, "or people are going to start to think that you _like_ me."

* * *

Danny had Calculus right after lunch, not that he absorbed any of it. Stiles wasn't in his class, so although he'd spent the entire period thinking about what his boyfriend had suggested, Danny didn't get the opportunity to bring it up until he cornered Stiles by his locker on the way to Physics.

"Were you serious about what you said to Jackson?" he blurted out as soon as he was near enough.

"Well, hello to you, too, boyfriend-o-mine," Stiles laughed and pressed a quick kiss to Danny's cheek.

And yeah, okay, he probably could have started with a kiss or even just a simple '_hello_', but spending the last almost-hour thinking about Stiles with a tongue piercing had pretty much derailed his regular thought process.

"Yeah, sorry. Hi," he breathed, flashing an apologetic smile – one that he knew showed off his dimples, because he knew Stiles thought they were cute. He leaned in close, looping one arm around Stiles' back. "So…did you mean it?"

Stiles grinned and bumped his shoulder into Danny's gently. The way his eyes lit up with amusement still made Danny's stomach flip pleasantly, even though they'd been dating for several months.

"Yeah, of course. He said I'm not a total loser! That's practically a bro-hug from Jackson; his reputation is definitely on the line."

Danny laughed and shook his head. Stiles knew what he meant, of course. Danny was sure Stiles knew _exactly_ what his comment had done to him. They'd spent far too much time exploring Danny's fascination with Stiles' piercings for Stiles to have made that suggestion without knowing what kind of reaction he would have.

"_No_," Danny clarified, herding Stiles around a pair of laughing girls to press him against the wall a few yards away. He leaned in closely, his smile turning shy as he glanced around to make sure no one was listening. "I meant," he corrected quietly, "about…about the tongue stud. You know I did."

Just thinking about it had made him hot; saying it out loud left Danny's heart racing. Stiles' hand was on his chest – there was just no chance that he wouldn't feel it. Stiles grinned; maybe at the pounding in Danny's chest or the tone of his voice, or maybe Danny looked as wrecked as he felt, because Stiles' lip had curled and Danny was in _trouble_. That was Stiles' plotting face; his _I'm-Evil-And-I'm-Going-To-Torture-You-In-All-Kinds -Of-Sexy-Ways _face. Danny groaned.

"Oh yeah," Stiles hummed as he drew Danny closer with a hand fisted in his collar, as the other sat on Danny's hip. Stiles' thumb had slipped under the hem of his shirt and was stroking the skin along the edge of Danny's jeans, "I'd go and get it today – _now_ – if I thought I could keep it hidden from everyone."

"Shit," Danny moaned, feeling his skin heating as he braced his arms on either side of Stiles' shoulders to keep from pressing into him, from rubbing against him. He was half hard, which was somewhere between mortifying and sexy, but he couldn't decide on either. They were in the school hallway between classes – there were people _everywhere_ and the thoughts creeping into his brain were _obscene_. "_Fuck_."

His voice sounded cracked – he was getting so turned on, his boyfriend and those stupidly hot piercings just _did things_ to him; made him crazy.

And Stiles _knew_ that and played games with him anyway.

Danny sort of loved that about Stiles; he was somehow both the best and worst thing that had ever happened to Danny. Mostly the best.

"They're totally hot, right?" Stiles continued; voice low and rough as though they were alone and this could actually go somewhere – like he wasn't just doing this to torment Danny. "I'd love to have something in my mouth to play with when I'm thinking about…other things." Stiles' fingers curled tighter into Danny's hip, while his other hand let go of Danny's collar to slide around his neck and play with the short hair at the base of his skull. "And I'm sure you'd love it, too. A smooth steel ball on my tongue, licking into your mouth, trailing along your abs, pressing against your co—"

"Jesus _Christ_, Stiles," Danny cut him off raggedly, "you can't just say things like that to me _at school. Fuck_."

If there was one thing Danny was sure he'd never get used to, it was the way Stiles went from goof ball to sex-fiend when the mood took him and no one else was around. He'd never gotten quite this…this _brazen_ in public before, though, and Danny wondered just how many people could tell how worked up they both were. Part of Danny was embarrassed, because surely – _surely –_ it was obvious. But a bigger part of Danny wanted to say _fuck it_ and drag Stiles somewhere else, where he could follow through on all the ideas flashing through his head.

"Oops," Stiles flirted, shifting a little until his hip was pressed firmly along Danny's now rock hard cock, heat seeping through his jeans until Danny had to fight not to push onto him, had to remind himself not to just gather Stiles against the wall and have his way with him. He knew he shouldn't, although he was starting to not give a damn about appropriate behavior.

A locker slammed near them and Danny startled, coming back to himself. They needed to be somewhere else, _anywhere_ else, as long as they could be alone. Danny was just planning how they could get away with skipping last period when Stiles spoke.

"I'd offer to take care of that for you," Stiles murmured, flicking his darkened eyes from Danny's face to his dick as he licked his lips suggestively, "but we have to get to Physics."

Danny groaned as Stiles ducked out from between him and the wall. He let his head fall until it landed with a dull and slightly painful thump against a poster on the cement wall. "I want you to be joking, but I can tell you're not."

"Nope," Stiles replied, too cheerfully. "I can't miss it; Harris already hates me after Chem last year." Danny turned his head to glare, but couldn't. Stiles was…Stiles. Dammit.

"_Fuck_."

Stiles winked. "Maybe later."

"I hate you," Danny grumbled as he pushed off the wall and tried to force himself to calm down.

"No, you don't."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

"What the hell is wrong with you, Mahealani?!" Danny winced as Coach Finstock continued to berate him across the field. He honestly couldn't recall the last time he let so many goals through. He was too distracted – he had been all afternoon. "You're slower than a turtle with three broken legs today. I hope you show Bilinski better moves!"

Oh God. Was he _that_ obvious?

It wasn't until his last class of the day, when Danny saw McCall heading towards the locker room, that he even remembered they had practice. It was stupid – lacrosse season didn't even start for_ months _but Finstock had given the team dozens of crazed lectures about how _star athletes train year round_ and _resting was for small children, cats, and the elderly_.

"Don't even think about complaining!" Coach had shouted at them on the very first week back from summer break. "Anybody who doesn't want to be here can easily be replaced by some fresh-faced newbie with something to prove! Try outs are looming, people, and don't you forget it!"

"Try outs aren't even until _December_," Stiles had muttered under his breath, but he'd thrown himself into every practice, anyway.

Despite all of Finstock's ranting, Danny had been tempted – _really_ tempted – to blow practice off and drag Stiles with him, but he knew Stiles really wanted to make first line on a permanent basis this year and he didn't want to be the reason that didn't happen.

So. Practice.

The problem wasn't just that he was distracted, but that the subject of his distraction was on the field. Being distracting. To be fair, Stiles wasn't _trying _to steal his attention. And he probably wouldn't have been, not any more so than usual, if it hadn't been for the idea he'd planted in Danny's head at lunch – not to mention that little scene in the hall earlier.

Danny just…couldn't focus. Even with Stiles partially blocked by several other players, Danny's eyes zeroed in on him and his movements.

He cringed when another shot breezed past him into the net. Coach blew his whistle loudly and threw his clipboard as hard as he could at Danny. It would never have hit him, had barely even made it halfway, but that wasn't what made Danny flinch. Coach looked _pissed _as he stormed up to the goal.

"That's _it_! Hit the showers, Mahealani! You're about as useful as a blind sloth dangling from the goal with a lacrosse stick between his jaws! You better pick up your game for next practice or you're on the bench and I'll find a new goalie for first line!" Coach blew his whistle once more for emphasis, right in Danny's face. "_Go! _McCall, get in the goal. _Now!_"

Danny sighed. Finstock was right – he wasn't getting any more focused and they still had more than forty-five minutes left of practice. He was _trying_, but he just couldn't concentrate; not when Stiles was only a few yards away, chest heaving and face flushed from exertion as he recovered from a set of suicide runs.

_Fuck_.

Coach had the right idea, Danny needed a shower. Preferably a cold one.

He made his way back to the locker room, dumping his helmet, pads and stick by the bench near his locker. He could pick them up later; no one was around to complain anyway. Danny toed off his shoes and socks, snagging his towel and body wash from his locker. He stripped off his uniform on the way to the shower and dropped it in a messy pile just outside of the wet area. It was nice to be able to take advantage of being alone; to not have to fight for a shower, to just drop his things wherever they landed and pick them up later without worrying that someone else would bitch about it or leave with his stuff by mistake.

He gritted his teeth and twisted the cold tap quickly, before he could change his mind. When he was hit by the icy spray he yelped loudly and jumped backwards, out of range of the shower head. He shivered and turned the hot water on, fingers tentatively drifting in and out of the water as he waited for the temperature to rise. So much for a cold shower – although he hadn't thought about Stiles' mouth for a whole twenty-something seconds, so it worked. Sort of.

At least, it probably would have if he actually stood under the shower instead of screeching like a banshee and chickening out the moment the first drop touched his skin.

He'd never been good with cold.

Danny stepped under the much warmer spray, enjoying the heat for a few minutes until the tension seeped out of his shoulders. He lathered some body wash between his hands and soaped up his chest and stomach, letting his hand drift lower. He cleaned his cock and balls, stifling a groan as he ran his hand along his length. That brief touch, paired with thoughts of Stiles and the possibility of a tongue piercing, made his dick twitch and begin to harden. He momentarily considered getting himself off, even gave himself a few strokes before he huffed out a frustrated breath, hand stilling. Beating one out in the empty locker room while his teammates practiced was a little too creepy for him. He'd just have to wait until he got home, or better yet, got some time alone with his boyfriend.

A loud clatter sounded from the locker area and Danny's hand flinched away from his dick like he'd been burned. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to will away his erection. The guys were all cool around him, he'd never been treated differently because he was gay, but he didn't think that getting caught in the locker room showers with a hard on would be a good look.

If nothing else, he'd never live it down. Hell, the guys _still_ sometimes called Greenberg 'Free Willy' after an unfortunate incident at the beginning of freshman year.

After a few moments of silence, he opened his eyes. His team mates weren't exactly a quiet bunch, so maybe his lacrosse stick had just fallen over by itself, somehow.

Or more likely, someone was being an asshole.

"Hey…anyone out there?"

When nobody answered, Danny frowned and peeked out around the edge of the tiled area. Stiles looked like a deer caught in headlights; eyes wide and lips parted. He was perfectly still for a moment, then his bare shoulders dropped and he frowned. "You totally ruined the surprise."

Danny raked his eyes down Stiles' chest, lingering for a moment on the metal in his navel. He took in the jersey clenched in Stiles' hand, his bare feet, and the way his shoes and socks trailed a few feet behind him.

It took him a second to process what was said, but when he did, he smirked. "I'm pretty sure you managed that yourself. What did you do, let an elephant into the locker room?" he joked.

"Well, if you didn't want me to trip over your lacrosse stick, you shouldn't have set up such a cunningly disguised trap with it."

"You're right. Leaning it carefully against a bench in an empty locker room where no one should logically walk into it was all part of my clever plot to capture unsuspecting prey. I accept all responsibility."

"Prey, huh?" Stiles grinned as he let the jersey fall from his fingers to the ground, gaze locked on Danny's torso.

Danny's eyes flicked between Stiles and the clock on the far wall. Practice shouldn't be over for at least another thirty minutes. Longer if Finstock was in a bad mood – like the one Danny had put him in by being so useless in the goal earlier.

For a split-second Danny felt guilty at throwing his teammates to the wolves but it evaporated quickly once Stiles pushed up against him, still in his lacrosse shorts.

"Fuck," Stiles breathed against his neck. Danny shivered as Stiles' tongue dragged along his earlobe, followed soon after by teeth, catching the flesh and tugging. Stiles' hand pressed against his chest and slid easily across his skin. "You should be wet and soapy like this all the time. That's…that should be a thing you do."

Danny groaned when clever fingers danced lightly along his hip then wrapped around his cock. "I'll uh…I'll keep that in mind."

Stiles' grip was firm but slick, and Danny couldn't help but thrust into it a few times before his brain kicked in and he shook his head, pulling away. "We shouldn't. The others—"

"—are stuck doing a dozen laps then another set of drills," Stiles interrupted. "And more laps if anyone falls behind. I snuck out."

Almost before Stiles had finished speaking he was twining his fingers in Danny's hair, hauling him in so he could bite at Danny's lip. They shouldn't – Danny _knew_ they shouldn't – but then Stiles was kissing him hotly, mouthing at his lips obscenely, until Danny couldn't remember why he was hesitating. He hadn't realized they'd been moving but then they were under the hot spray of the shower, rivulets of water sneaking between their lips as they kissed.

That was…different. But good – _very_ good.

He gave up trying to chase his own thoughts to fix an immediate problem; his hands were slack at his sides, when they should have been on the body pressed against him. He wrapped his arms around Stiles' waist and shoulders, pulling him in closer. The wet fabric of Stiles' shorts rubbed along Danny's dick, making him moan. Stiles shifted, rocking hard against his hips, and Danny could feel the jewelry in Stiles' navel catch and slip against his abs. He shuddered as Stiles dragged his parted lips, relaxed and lazy, upwards over Danny's mouth until his hot breath drifted teasingly across the tip of Danny's nose.

Danny could feel his heart racing and could feel Stiles' pulse hammering just as fast where his neck was flush against Danny's bicep. He curled the fingers near Stiles' hip into the waistband of his shorts and snapped the elastic gently. "Your shorts are soaked," he croaked against Stiles' mouth.

"I can – _oh,_" Stiles paused to swallow hard, "I can fix that."

Stiles didn't back away more than an inch as he shoved his shorts over his hips, forcing the clingy fabric lower until it dropped to the floor. Danny caught a quick glimpse of Stiles' 'lucky' lacrosse boxer briefs, proudly stamped all over with the bat signal, before they and the protective cup inside them joined the sodden material pooled at Stiles' feet.

No longer restricted by clothing, Stiles' erection curved up towards his stomach, flushed and tempting. Danny surged forward, crowding Stiles out of the spray and against the tiled wall, sliding their hard cocks together in his fist.

"Fuck, _yes_," Stiles gasped, arching his back as Danny flicked his thumb across the metal ring in the head of Stiles' dick. "_Shit._"

The smooth ring under the pad of his thumb made Danny's mouth water. There was nothing he enjoyed more than feeling the metal of Stiles' piercings against his tongue, so he dropped to his knees and licked at the steel in Stiles' navel, biting gently at it on his way further south, enjoying the click it made as it bumped his teeth. He wondered, for just a moment, how it would feel if that press of steel was in their kisses, if it moved against his teeth and lips and tongue whenever Stiles licked into his mouth.

Danny leaned back, eyeing Stiles' navel bar with satisfaction. It was shiny, even more so than usual as it glistened with Danny's saliva. Stiles' piercings should always look like that; wet from Danny's mouth, the skin holding them in place rosy and warm from his attention.

Stiles' hand was clutching at the short strands of Danny's hair, somehow tugging them up while still pressing down with his palm, urging him lower. Danny obeyed, more than willing. He licked his lips, lowering his mouth onto Stiles' dick, sucking carefully as he traced his tongue over the slit. He loved going down on Stiles; the thickness sliding between his lips, the weight on his tongue, the way Stiles _whined_ when Danny pushed and licked and tongued against the spongy head of his cock and the ring that looped through it.

He loved that the muscles in Stiles' thighs would tense and his balls would jump in reaction whenever Danny plucked at the metal, oh so carefully, with his teeth or tongue. Stiles would always, _always_ make a noise that rushed right to Danny's cock.

His own erection was throbbing urgently. Not for the first time he had the crazy idea that if he could do this for long enough, he could probably come untouched. If Stiles could stay hard and not orgasm, if Danny could just keep sucking on Stiles without stopping – could keep tasting the skin and tonguing at the steel – then he just _knew_ he could finish, no friction needed.

_Fuck_ that would be hot. But he and Stiles were both too impatient, far too eager. There was too much temptation and neither had enough restraint, but maybe one day. He wrapped his fingers around himself when Stiles began pulling harder on his hair in sharp, stinging jolts. He knew what that meant; Stiles was getting close.

Danny started thrusting into his own grip, feeling the heat building in his lower belly as the slide of his hand pushed him closer to the edge.

"Don't…don't you _dare_ come yet," Stiles groaned brokenly, "I have _plans_." Danny glanced up at Stiles' comment, stilling his hips in acknowledgement. He had to pinch the skin of his own thigh _hard_ to comply when he caught Stiles' needy look right before those amber eyes squeezed tightly shut and he spoke again. "Fuck, Danny, I am going to suck your brains out _through your_ _dick_ after this. _Jesus_."

Stiles' words – and that fucking _tone_ – made Danny moan noisily around the flesh in his mouth, tongue pressing against it firmly and lips tightening at the base. He heard Stiles swear loudly, felt him jerk against the wall and dig his fingers into Danny's scalp as he came, filling Danny's mouth in hot, salty spurts.

Danny swallowed what he could, licking his lips and using his thumb to wipe away what he couldn't. Stiles was leaning heavily against the wall, head hanging, legs trembling and chest heaving. Danny leaned in, nuzzling at Stiles' thigh and pressing his hands into the tiles on either side of Stiles' hips, taking a moment to catch his own breath. When he pulled back he let his eyes travel upwards slowly, taking in Stiles who looked wrecked in the hottest way. Danny ran his palms over his boyfriend's skin, as soothingly as he could manage while still being so turned on. He stood carefully, mindful of the slippery floor and that cracking his head open would be the ultimate mood killer, as he trailed his hands up Stiles' ribs and chest.

A sharp ache shot through his knees as he stood – the tiles had been hard and uncomfortable – but Danny ignored it. _Worth it_.

He grinned when his fingers brushed one of Stiles' sensitive spots, eliciting a shiver and that noise – the one that made Danny's blood heat and skin tingle. He pressed his erection against Stiles' lower belly, couldn't stop himself from doing so, even though he knew Stiles needed a minute. He curved his hands along Stiles' neck and jaw, cupping and coaxing until Stiles was tilting his head just slightly, enough for Danny to lean in and latch onto the skin just over his pulse point. Danny could feel the beat under his fingers, lips, and tongue; still rapid and heavy as Stiles recovered. He mouthed patiently at the skin, waiting as Stiles gradually came down, until the rhythm he could feel was slower, steadier.

Stiles shifted under his hands.

"Fuck," Stiles swore, gripping at Danny's hips. "You…that…_fuck_."

"Eloquent," Danny laughed, sounding husky even to his own ears.

Amber eyes narrowed at Danny, though they were definitely more mischievous than dangerous.

"We'll see how eloquent _you_ are when I'm done with you."

"Big words," he teased, knowing exactly how Stiles would react. He'd never had this kind of playfulness with anyone else, not during sex anyway, and he loved it. He loved that they could be silly, could goad and dare each other and _enjoy_ it.

Cold tile on his back made Danny flinch. Stiles had spun them around, pressing Danny back faster than he'd expected.

"That sounds like a challenge," Stiles commented, tone mild but eyes dancing.

Danny blinked and gave his most innocent look, although he was sure it was ruined by the grin he couldn't suppress. "Does it?"

Stiles moved forward slowly, purposefully, but stopped inches from Danny's face. Danny dropped his eyes to Stiles' mouth – his lips were as appealing as always, pink and soft and tempting. He caught a flash of teeth when Stiles smirked, but it passed quickly and Danny was left staring, eyes following along as Stiles' tongue carefully peeked out from his mouth and traced the lines of his own lips very deliberately.

For a second Danny's imagination ran away with him, he could almost see the glimmer of metal nestled in that wet, pink flesh.

He stood as still as possible, not wanting to ruin whatever this game was that they were playing, not too soon. His cock was hot and hard, _aching_, but he knew Stiles was planning something and he'd never let Danny down before. Stiles was close enough that Danny could feel the heat from his body licking at his skin and he had to hold himself back.

The rest of the world might think his boyfriend was a complete goofball, and okay, a lot of the time he was. But they never got to see him like _this_.

Stiles was fucking _sexy_.

"I know you've been thinking about it," Stiles murmured, leaning until his lips brushed Danny's when he spoke. "I bet you've spent _hours_ thinking about a bar through my tongue."

"I wouldn't say _hours_," Danny hedged, trying to keep the lie out of his voice. Judging by the way Stiles grinned, he hadn't been very convincing.

Instead of calling him out on it, Stiles caught his lips again, kissing him slowly and surely until Danny felt lightheaded. By the time he was breathless and arching his hips, trying fruitlessly to slide his cock along the dip of Stiles' hipbone, Stiles wasn't even really kissing him anymore. Not properly, anyway; just dragging his open mouth along Danny's, darting his tongue out to taste when he felt like it. All Danny could do was let him; whenever he tried more Stiles pulled away.

"You know, this kink of yours really fucking _works_ for me. I don't remember the last time you saw one of my piercings and didn't try to get your mouth on it as soon as you could."

"Shut _up_," Danny groaned, wrapping his arms around Stiles' waist and pulling him in roughly, finally able to get some friction on his neglected dick.

"Shut up? It's like you don't even _know_ me," Stiles joked.

Stiles' hand disappeared from Danny's right hip, sliding between them to fondle his balls. Danny gasped out a harsh breath, dropping his forehead to Stiles' shoulder as his eyes drifted closed. "_Fuck._"

"In here? Probably not." Wet heat drew along the shell of Danny's ear. "But I do recall promising you one _hell_ of a blowjob."

Danny groaned again as Stiles released his balls and pushed at his hips and chest until he was leaning on the wall once more. Stiles slid down his body, licking and nipping at his skin until he was kneeling.

"You know," he remarked, voice deceptively casual considering the way he had curled a fist around Danny's erection, "I bet this would feel pretty different for you if I _did_ have my tongue pierced."

"You…I…_Jesus_."

"Eloquent," Stiles smirked. Danny didn't even try to reply; words were too hard when Stiles was suddenly sucking on the head of his cock, swirling his tongue and twisting his hand as it pumped along the shaft.

Pleasure was prickling along his skin, building low in his gut. He tried not to thrust, tried not to let his hips rock past the tiniest of movements. He knew Stiles didn't mind – even kind of liked it, Danny suspected – but he didn't want to be the kind of guy who ruined the mood by choking his partner, so he clenched his fists and used the bite of his fingernails in his palms to ground himself.

He was getting close, quickly. It wouldn't take much longer, not when he'd been on edge for most of the day.

Stiles sunk his mouth all the way down, pressing his tongue along firmly. The way he dragged and pushed it against him was so forceful, so deliberate, that Danny had an image of exactly what Stiles had hinted at – a little metal ball embedded in the wet, hot muscle. He could almost feel the contrast between the smooth, hard steel and the soft, strong flesh massaging at the vein along the underside of his cock and it wrung a long, loud moan from him.

He was going to come soon, he knew, could feel his balls contracting and his dick getting harder still as he tried to breathe through it. Stiles' mouth on him felt so good, so warm and wet and _hungry_. He could still feel the phantom slide of steel that he knew wasn't there, but it didn't matter because Stiles was humming around him.

Danny was making noises, ones that would probably be embarrassing if he could care about anything other than the way Stiles was making him feel. He was whining, moaning, gasping – then a completely different sound pierced his lust-fogged mind.

It wasn't him, and it definitely wasn't Stiles.

Danny swallowed a disappointed groan when Stiles pulled away to meet his gaze. They didn't move, silent and wide-eyed, until another noise followed, closer and clearer than the last. That…was definitely the team. Stiles leapt to his feet and Danny bolted out of the shower, sliding dangerously on the floor as he wrapped his towel around his waist. He kicked the strewn clothes he'd dropped earlier beside the shower into a pile by the benches, and opened his locker to yank some clothes out as though he'd been innocently getting dressed.

"Dude…my towel is _in my locker_," Stiles hissed from the shower, right before the locker room door swung open.

_Shit_.

Jackson was the first one through the door; barely a second after Danny pulled on some clean boxer briefs and threw his towel over his neck. The rest of the team filtered in behind him, most looking wiped while complaining about Coach's pissy mood. Danny yanked on his jeans as Jackson stopped near his locker, eyes narrowed and nostrils flaring angrily.

"Uh, hey?" Danny greeted as calmly as he could. "I thought you'd still be on the field." He tried not to cringe at the way Jackson was staring right at his mouth – like he _knew_.

"Coach sent us back when he said Greenberg's smell was making him physically ill," Jackson said slowly. He was toeing at the clothes Danny left on the floor in front of his locker, shifting his suspicious look between them and Danny.

He couldn't know. Danny was just being paranoid – he was being ridiculous, because there was just _no way_. He'd only managed a quick peek at the mirror in his rush, but there hadn't been anything that indicated 'I just gave my boyfriend head in the shower'. Speaking of which, Danny really needed to get his towel to Stiles before anyone noticed he didn't have one.

"Good shower?" Jackson's voice sounded strained, and his forehead was creased in the way he'd made Danny promise to stop him doing. He said it gave him a headache, but Danny knew Jackson was secretly worried he'd wrinkle prematurely.

Considering Jackson's weird behavior, Danny decided not to say anything.

"Yeah, it was okay," he replied. He paused, realizing he had the perfect excuse to go back over to the shower. "Oh, I think I left my Axe in there."

Danny navigated the busy locker room as quickly as he could manage without looking strange. Some of the others were grabbing their towels and heading in that direction, so he cut in front of Lahey, blocking the path in a way he desperately hoped looked natural.

He leaned around the wall, shaking his towel at Stiles when it was out of the others' line of sight. Stiles snatched it in relief and handed over the bottle of soap Danny gestured to. As soon as Danny had pulled his body out of the wet area and turned to leave, he heard the water shut off.

As he made his way back to his locker, the other showers started up, but no one commented. He let out a breath of relief as he threw his Axe back into his locker.

"Where's your towel?" Jackson's tone was mocking. Danny ignored him, scooping up his dirty uniform and throwing it into his gym bag. He pulled on a shirt just as Stiles got to his own locker, almost opposite Danny's, towel wrapped around his waist and wet shorts balled up and held carefully in front of his navel. "Are those your shorts, Stilinski? Don't you know you're supposed to take your clothes off _before_ the shower? Or weren't you using your _head_?"

Stiles kept his back turned, facing his locker as he dropped the wet material to the floor and tugged on a shirt. He pulled a pair of boxers up modestly under the towel then let the white fabric fall atop the growing pile at his feet. "You know, Jackson, some people might say you shouldn't talk about things you _can't possibly know about_."

It was obvious to Danny that there was a whole different conversation going on that he wasn't a part of. Jackson and Stiles undoubtedly thought they were being subtle, but neither was particularly good when it came to discretion. Danny shook his head in amusement and leaned over, choosing to ignore the way his boyfriend and best friend were sniping at each other, in favor of pulling on his socks and shoes. If he hadn't done so, he might have missed the thumbs up McCall gave Stiles, but he caught it easily. If it hadn't been for McCall's waggling eyebrows, Danny might have thought he was cheering on the snarky comeback. He clearly wasn't.

Danny was pretty used to Jackson knowing stuff about him that he shouldn't, because Jackson was somehow really good at that, but _McCall_? How the hell could they _both_ know?

He shot another look in the mirror, but his reflection still didn't scream 'dirty and debauched'.

"Interesting how you just...disappeared…after Danny got sent off the field," Jackson hinted, violently yanking his jersey off as though it had mortally offended him.

Jackson was definitely getting pissed off, not that Danny was sure _why_, exactly. It was pretty obvious that Jackson knew what had happened, but he'd never gotten mad about Danny getting action before. Then again, Danny had cancelled plans with Jackson two nights earlier to spend time with Stiles, and Jackson's attitude to that hadn't exactly been warm and fuzzy.

He didn't want to be the kind of guy who neglected his best friend; he'd have to make an effort to spend more time with Jackson, maybe plan a bro-date soon.

Stiles shrugged at Jackson's words and gave the least convincing wince Danny had ever seen, rubbing at his shoulder sarcastically. Danny didn't even know you _could_ rub a muscle sarcastically, but Stiles managed. "I hurt my shoulder. I figured I should wash up before you guys hogged all the showers."

Jackson snorted and folded his arms. "You know what else is interesting? That I've never seen you use the locker room showers before. And suddenly, here you are. And what a coincidence – so is Danny."

Danny rolled his eyes. Of course Jackson hadn't seen Stiles use the showers. If anyone noticed his piercings they'd become hot gossip all over the school and half of Beacon Hills. The last thing Stiles wanted was for his dad to find out and ground him until he was forty-five.

"Well, I'm usually the last one off the field, packing up the equipment," Stiles replied, glaring at Jackson as though he could set him on fire with his eyes.

"Yeah right. I know _exactly_ what you were doing with your _equi—"_

"What you should _know_," Stiles interrupted, "is when to _shut your mouth_." He paused for a second, eyes flicking between Jackson and Danny before he added in a low but very deliberate tone, "_Lizard-breath._"

As far as insults went, it was incredibly random. In fact, compared to the witty comebacks Danny usually heard Stiles throwing at people, it was actually sort of weak. But Jackson's mouth snapped shut and he stared meaningfully at Stiles – a stare that Danny recognized. He'd seen it directed at himself a million times since he and Jackson became friends; it was his 'keep your mouth shut' look.

Danny was curious. He knew Jackson sometimes kept things to himself, but he couldn't imagine a secret that Jackson would want to keep from him, but would share with Stiles. Danny couldn't say those two were friends; in fact, trying to figure out their relationship gave him a headache, so he usually just didn't.

Stiles raised his eyebrows, looking as though he was practically _daring_ Jackson to say something. After a tense moment, Jackson huffed angrily and turned away, pulling his towel from his locker and storming off toward the showers. Whatever it was, Danny just…he _didn't want to know_.

"Enjoy your shower," Stiles called after him with a smirk. "The water is nice and _hot_ today."


	3. Chapter 3

_/* represents a flashback */_

* * *

**Chapter Three**

Stiles almost tripped three times on the way up the stairs, but Danny was there to catch him and prevent that potential disaster. It only seemed fair considering he was relatively certain that his hands under Stiles' shirt were fueling his boyfriend's lack of coordination.

By the time they'd made it into Stiles' room, Danny's pants were unzipped and sliding precariously over his hips. He'd managed to kick one shoe off, but the other must have been more tightly laced, because it was being stubborn. While Stiles was impatiently toeing off his own shoes and socks, Danny was trying – somewhat unsuccessfully – to tug Stiles' shirt off, but neither wanted to pull out of their kiss long enough to get it over his head.

"Don't move," Stiles gasped as he dragged himself away from Danny and closed the bedroom door, "unless it's to take off more clothes."

Danny didn't want to waste any more time and used the few seconds apart to wrench his other shoe off, ignoring the way it pulled uncomfortably. He dropped his pants and shirt onto the floor then wrapped his arms around Stiles, who had also taken advantage of the break to strip down to his underwear.

Before they could delve into another long and hungry kiss, Stiles snickered and dug his big toe into Danny's ankle.

"What are you doing?"

Stiles' toe somehow managed to wriggle its way between Danny's skin and his sock. "Taking your socks off. You look like a big dork."

"A dork, huh?" Danny challenged, although he used his own toes to peel his socks off, even as he spoke.

"The biggest."

Danny scooped Stiles up carefully but quickly, throwing him over his shoulder and tickling his fingers along the back of Stiles' knees. Stiles squirmed and squealed in a completely undignified way. Danny resolved to tease him about that later, although he knew Stiles would deny it with every breath. He moved to the bed and swung Stiles down onto the mattress, where he landed with a bounce.

He draped himself onto Stiles, settling his body and trailing his fingers threateningly over Stiles' most ticklish areas. "Want to say that again?"

"You are the biggest dork," Stiles started before he cringed, fighting a laugh when Danny's fingers began to move, "uh…_strongest_. You are the strongest, most manly dork. Um…man. Ever."

Danny snorted at Stiles' backpedalling, shaking his head in amusement. "You have absolutely no room to call someone else a dork."

"You love me."

Stiles went rigid under Danny, and for a second he looked a little wary, like he hadn't meant to say that; hadn't meant to put Danny on the spot with words like _love_. Neither of them had actually said it to each other before, so it had probably been a slip of the tongue.

It was true, though. Danny could admit he _did_ love Stiles, he'd just never said it. Stiles looked like he wanted to bury himself in a hole – it was probably something Danny shouldn't make a big deal out of.

"Yeah," he replied casually flexing this feet in an attempt not to fidget self-consciously. "I must need professional help."

The tension melted out of Stiles, even as his eyes lit up brightly. His mouth twitched, like he was fighting a grin, and Danny's stomach swooped.

When Stiles replied his voice was low and rough. "Me too."

Danny's heart was threatening to thump right through his ribs. He might have been embarrassed about that, if he couldn't feel an answering rhythm from Stiles against his chest. He wanted to grin and laugh and do something mortifying like _sing_, but instead he pressed a kiss to the tip of Stiles' unfairly cute nose and nodded sagely.

"You _definitely_ need professional help."

Stiles gasped in mock outrage and the next thing Danny knew they were wrestling, rolling back and forth and almost _off_ the bed. Danny was a bit bigger than Stiles, a bit stronger, but it was fun to mess around, gaining and losing the upper hand until Stiles was pinning Danny to the bed. He was sure he could overpower Stiles but he was perfectly happy where he was.

His dick was hard as a rock, fighting the constraint of his boxer briefs and pushing along the ridges of Stiles' lower abs. He groaned when Stiles rocked his hips, heat and pleasure from the friction shocking through him.

"God, Stiles. Y-your dad is working late, right?"

"Most of the night."

"Oh, _thank fuck_."

Sheriff Stilinski was pretty awesome, as far as parents went, but Danny wasn't in a hurry to get caught by him _again_.

_/*_

_Despite the noises Stiles was making, the sound of a throat clearing near the door – that they'd left open, dammit – echoed in Danny's ears like a gunshot._

_He was incredibly glad that they'd only gotten so far as to strip Danny of his shirt and make out a bit. Stiles was still fully dressed, so even though he was sprawled on the bed under Danny with his legs splayed, Danny figured it could have been worse. He was ninety-eight percent sure that his body blocked the fact that his hand had slipped under the waistband of Stiles' jeans to palm at this muscles of his ass._

_Danny stared at the pillow by Stiles' ear, frozen, while Stiles just squawked with embarrassment and buried his face into his shoulder, breath hot on Danny's skin. _

_He half expected to be dragged out by his ear – or, you know, _shot_ – but instead Sheriff Stilinski just folded his arms and leaned against the door frame, with what Danny assumed had to be feigned nonchalance. No parent could be that cool the first time they walked in on their underage son being mauled by a semi-naked guy – even forearmed with the knowledge that they'd been dating._

_Danny was almost certain that meant he hadn't been there long enough to hear Danny's comments about how he missed Stiles, had missed opening him up and making him beg, couldn't wait to get his fingers and cock inside him._

"_Stay for dinner, Danny. We can all have a chat around some pizza." There was no question there – the challenge had been clear enough that Danny felt about seven shades of awkward until Stiles tensed beneath him and peeked out with a glare. When Danny looked at the Sheriff, he realized that the challenge hadn't been about him staying for dinner – not really, although that was clearly part of it – mostly it had been aimed at Stiles about the pizza._

_When Stiles started muttering about manipulative fathers who didn't know what was good for them and took advantage of their son's embarrassment to eat whatever they wanted, Danny was sorely tempted to clamp a hand over his mouth and stop him from digging them into a deeper hole._

_Danny relaxed, barely, when the Sheriff left the room with a simple, "See you boys downstairs in five."_

"_Vegetarian with low fat cheese for you!" Stiles had called out when he finally recovered._

"_Don't push your luck!"_

_*/_

It could have gone worse, much worse. Dinner had been awkward and conversation had been stilted, but that was to be expected.

Stiles' dad had made not-subtle-enough comments that were embarrassing, not just for Stiles and Danny, but most likely for the Sheriff, as well. Comments about _being careful and taking precautions_ came paired with napkins being offered to them. Suggestions to _wait until the pizza has cooled and is ready to be eaten_ followed Stiles burning his tongue on a slice.

So yeah, it had been awkward and skirted the line of mortification very closely, but it was bearable. Danny hadn't been banned from the house; they hadn't been lectured about their relationship or told to stop seeing each other. The Sheriff had simply made it painfully clear that they should be responsible, had grunted various incarnations of _don't rush into anything_ and had stated just the once, that he _better never see anything like that again_.

Danny had taken that to mean no sex in the Stilinski house; had even lasted all of a week before Stiles promised him that he was being silly and blew Danny with his back against Stiles' bedroom door. He'd used his talent for rationalizing to convince Danny that as long as Stiles wasn't caught out of bed or worse, _not alone_ in bed after curfew, it wouldn't be a problem. As long as his dad never _saw_ anything, they'd be fine. It was the first time Stiles even acknowledged he had a curfew (one that the Sheriff had drilled into Danny repeatedly when he'd started dating Stiles even though Stiles had snorted at the idea of it).

That had been over a month ago, not long before the end of summer, and although Danny still felt vaguely wary about doing anything more than kissing in Stiles' room, he was mostly over it. Besides, he always, _always_ made sure they weren't going to be interrupted, and they never forgot to close the door after that. Stiles' dad could just walk in, of course – there was no lock – but at least they'd have some warning.

None of that mattered, though. Not when Stiles licked a hot stripe along his neck; not when he curled his fingers into Danny's bicep for leverage while he ground their hips together intently.

"You know," Stiles breathed into the short hair right behind Danny's ear, "I remember promising you a pretty epic blowjob. I better make it worth the wait."

In seconds, the comfortable heaviness where Stiles had been resting against him disappeared. Stiles had slithered down the bed until his body was resting between Danny's legs, arms curling under his thighs while Stiles mouthed at his cock through the stretchy fabric of his underwear.

"Shit," Danny gasped. His hands snaked into Stiles' hair, long enough now that he could get a real grip, though he tried not to pull too hard. Stiles was leaving wet patches across the front of his boxer briefs – hot under his mouth but cooling whenever he shifted his attention to another patch. The saliva soaking in made the material cling even more than normal, made it drag roughly when Danny rocked or squirmed. The heat from Stiles' mouth was contrasting with the colder, air-exposed dampness, making Danny desperate. He'd been tormented all day, he needed to get off; needed to come with Stiles' weight pressing against him like it had been just minutes earlier.

He bit off a noise that was almost a whine, but Stiles heard it and tugged at his underwear with his teeth. The elastic snapped back against his hipbone and Stiles laughed when Danny's fingers twisted tighter in his hair. "Okay, I get it. No more teasing."

Stiles began peeling Danny's boxer briefs from him and Danny released his hold on the silky strands between his fingers to help. He lifted his hips, pushing against the already retreating fabric as though it would disappear faster. Without the cool dampness rubbing against his cock, Danny's tension eased slightly. "Fuck," he croaked, flexing the fingers of his right hand to keep from wrapping it around his own hard on. "_Fuck_, Stiles. I need…"

"I've gotcha, big guy." Stiles grinned, sliding back into the space between Danny's thighs. Wet heat surrounded the head of Danny's erection, just the right amount of suction to make Danny's hips roll involuntarily. Stiles' tongue swirled around the tip just _so_, reminding him of that afternoon in the locker room. His stomach fluttered when he remembered what they'd been doing, how Stiles had teased him with talk of a tongue stud and what it might feel like.

He wanted to feel that, wanted the smooth press of a hard ball along his shaft as Stiles blew him; wanted to feel it sliding along his skin wherever Stiles felt inclined to lick; wanted to feel it dip along the ridges of his abs when Stiles paid them special attention like he sometimes did.

But Stiles didn't have his tongue pierced, not yet, although Danny had no doubt Stiles would do it in the future. And that was fine, Danny was perfectly happy with Stiles just as he was, even if he already knew Stiles with a pierced tongue would be featuring pretty heavily in his fantasies for a while.

Danny's breath was heavier, his skin was hot and prickling, and he knew that he was close. Stiles was still sucking him, still bobbing up and down on his cock and sending sparks of pleasure up his spine, but Danny wanted more.

"Stop, _stop_."

Stiles pulled back immediately, eyes wide and forehead creased in concern, hand still squeezing the base of Danny's shaft firmly. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Nothing, I just…I want you to fuck me."

The worry in Stiles' brow eased and his lips tilted in the beginnings of a smirk. "Are you sure? Because you nearly blacked out last time."

Stiles looked like a smug little shit and Danny sort of wanted to kick him, but that might ruin the mood and his cock was pretty adamant against him ruining the mood.

"That's a total exaggeration." His voice cracked as he spoke, but only because his boyfriend was devious and took the moment to stroke upwards and swipe his thumb over Danny's leaking slit. "I was…just a little dazed."

"That's one way to put it," Stiles said, licking his lips intently. "And it's not a _total_ exaggeration, considering you _did_ black out that one time."

"Only the _first_ time, for, like, _three seconds_," Danny argued, pulling Stiles up by the shoulders until he was sprawled across Danny's chest. "And only because I didn't realize how intense it would be with your ring!"

Which was entirely true. And honestly, if Danny had known how extreme a Prince Albert would feel rubbing against his prostate, he might have developed a piercing kink sooner. But, it also meant that they couldn't do it often, because Danny might not admit it out loud – since Stiles would preen for _ages_ – but he felt kind of tipsy and fuzzy for a while afterwards. It wasn't conducive to driving home, or interacting innocently with Stiles' dad or Danny's family. The one time his parents had come home about two minutes after Stiles had pulled out, they'd dressed hurriedly and sat through dinner, with Danny's mother asking him twenty minutes later if he'd been _drinking_.

"Yeah, yeah, blame the steel. We both know I'm just too hot to handle."

Danny grinned, because he couldn't help it. Stiles had propped himself up on one elbow, amber eyes sparkling down at Danny. He was kind of perfect, even when he was being an idiot.

Shifting a little, Danny hooked a leg around one of Stiles', rubbing their calves together until the friction from their leg hair itched faintly.

Feeling playful, he traced a finger along the elastic of Stiles' boxers, trailing it down until he felt the curve of the ring under the fabric. He flicked it carefully and spoke in a low, suggestive tone. "If you don't like making me come so hard I can't see straight, you probably shouldn't keep the piercing."

Stiles groaned, so low and quiet that Danny barely heard it, mostly just felt the warm air against his shoulder and the vibration where Stiles' chest rested beside Danny's ribs. Stiles pressed forward for a moment, rubbing his erection briefly along the ridges of Danny's fingers before pulling back with a grin.

"I see how it is," Stiles teased as he nipped at Danny's clavicle, "you're only with me for my cock piercing."

Danny's stomach fluttered and for a split second all he could think about was wrapping his arms around Stiles and basking in how warm and happy he felt – not because of the way Stiles was touching him, but because Stiles' words didn't hold a trace of self-deprecation, weren't twisted with concern. They'd come so far since their first night together, and Stiles was confident enough in their relationship to joke about it without even the tiniest layer of doubt.

He wasn't insecure about it in the slightest, not anymore, and Danny smiled with more joy than would probably make sense to Stiles. But maybe Stiles felt it too, because his eyes were bright and his grin was even wider than before.

"That's not true," Danny paused, trying to look serious. "I like your navel bar, too."

Stiles laughed, loud and long and completely open, until Danny couldn't resist chuckling and running his hand up Stiles' back, enjoying the way he shook with mirth, the way the muscles under his skin twitched and shifted until he settled. Eventually Stiles went quiet, shaking his head with amusement and pressing random kisses to Danny's neck and shoulders.

"Well, I kind of want you to stick around, so I guess I better keep them." Stiles was shifting lower and Danny could feel the way Stiles' mouth curved happily as it drew along his skin. "I guess I'll just have to put up with you always wanting to taste them and the way you go fucking _crazy_ when I'm inside you," Stiles stopped speaking to lap at Danny's nipples, to drag the flat of his tongue firmly across them until Danny was groaning and squirming beneath him. Danny was torn between enjoying the soft wet heat exactly as it was and imagining a hard ball running across the now stiff and sensitive peaks. Stiles dropped an unexpectedly chaste kiss to each; his eyes were dancing and his lips were twitching as though he couldn't quite hold back a smirk. "It's a tough job, but I'm a tough guy. I can handle it."

"Yeah," Danny gasped when Stiles' tongue ran the line between his abs and dipped into his navel, "you're a martyr. V-very self-sacrificing."

Stiles hummed in agreement as he pulled away to lick his lips and stare down at Danny hungrily. "I'm still going to blow you, though," he said, matter-of-factly. "I'm going to suck you until you can't stop yourself, until you're begging and twisting into the sheets and pulling my hair to try to stop me because you're so close, but I'm going to keep going until you can't hold back and you come. _Hard_."

"Fuck, Stiles." Danny's throat felt rough and his skin was hot, prickling. His cock was hard and straining, drooling pre-come at Stiles' words. "That's– you're– _fuck_ _that's hot_. But I really—"

"And then," Stiles cut him off, voice dropping low and suggestive, "_then_ I'm going to fuck you. Or maybe I'll rim you until you're hard again, first. Because you're right, you only blacked out that first time, and I want to see if I can make you do it again."

Danny wanted to say something, anything, but he had no words and his tongue felt leaden, too heavy by far, anyway.

It wasn't until Stiles' mouth was sinking over his erection – hot, eager and wonderful; cheeks rosy with want and hollowing as he moved – that Danny managed to articulate anything at all.

"Oh Jesus," he ground out when Stiles began fisting what he couldn't fit into his mouth. "_Oh, God_."

Stiles pulled back, letting Danny's dick slip from his mouth with a filthy pop. Danny's eyes were drawn to Stiles' mouth, to the way his lips were glossy and shiny from his own saliva, to Stiles' tongue tracing wetly along his cupid's bow.

"I really prefer to go by Stiles," he said with a waggle of his eyebrows before dropping his head back to Danny's crotch, his pink lips flushing darker as they stretched around him.

Danny couldn't watch anymore, it was already too much, too good, without the added sensory input of actually _seeing_ what Stiles was doing. He'd spent so much time that day being tortured, being teased all the way to the brink then left wanting, he had so little resistance left.

He squeezed his eyes shut, as though he could block out some of the sensation. The way Stiles was working him had him responding just as his boyfriend had predicted; he wasn't begging, not really, but only because the warm, slick slide of Stiles' mouth had driven away his words. He was definitely twisting in the sheets – squirming, maybe – and his fingers were curling into Stiles hair. When had that happened? When had his hands made the decision to weave into those strands instead of clutching at the pillow under his head and the comforter that had been rucked to the side?

It wasn't long before Danny was clenching his jaw; fighting the urge to thrust and rut up into Stiles' mouth when he slurped loudly and shamelessly on the head of Danny's cock, when Stiles snaked his wrist to give it a twist on the upstroke. Danny waited as long as he could, held back desperately even when the pleasure was humming along his skin, pooling inside him with every movement, every suck, every noise that vibrated along Stiles' tongue and through Danny's dick.

Eventually he couldn't control it anymore and he knew he was almost there, fingers tightening and toes curling. He cried out, tried to give Stiles some kind of warning, but either his boyfriend didn't hear or didn't _care_, just kept sucking and bobbing and pumping until Danny was falling over the edge, rocking through his orgasm and gasping for breath as his heart echoed in his ears.

Stiles didn't stop, not until Danny softened and whined at the sensation, prying his fingers from Stiles' hair to nudge him away because it was just too much. Even then Stiles didn't stop so much as shuffle over to mouth and bite at Danny's hip and thigh while Danny came back down, leaving shiny trails and red marks until he didn't flinch every time Stiles' cheek brushed against his now flaccid cock.

When Danny could breathe again, when his pulse was something at least approaching normal and his skin felt cool and clammy instead of hot and prickling, he reached down to stroke at the back of Stiles' neck. Stiles pushed back into the touch and Danny let his hand slide back to cup Stiles' jaw, trying to coax him back up.

Stiles' eyes, when they met Danny's, were wide and a little wild. His pupils were blown, his cheeks were flushed and his teeth were gnawing his already swollen bottom lip – like if he couldn't get his lips and teeth on Danny then they needed to be otherwise occupied. Danny's dick tried valiantly to stir at the sight of Stiles looking so turned on, but it was far too soon.

"Come on," he urged, trying to pull Stiles into a position where Danny could kiss him, touch him.

"Nuh-uh. No way, Danny-man," Stiles breathed, voice rough. He shook his head even as he pressed a kiss to Danny's palm. "Don't tell me you've forgotten what I said, because I haven't. We don't get to do this often enough, and I wanna get you shaking and falling apart underneath me…I wanna get you _wrecked_."

Danny felt his mouth go dry. He had no idea how to answer that, but Stiles was watching him intently. "I'm starting to feel like my mom should have warned me about guys like you. The innocent looking ones are clearly hiding something."

"Innocent?"

"I said innocent _looking_."

Stiles didn't laugh, not quite, although Danny could tell he really wanted to by the way his mouth parted and his lip quirked on one side. "It's always the quiet ones, huh?"

"Uh, I hate to break this to you, Stiles, but you are _not _quie—_fuck_!"

Even sort of knowing it was coming, he hadn't expected Stiles to move quite so fast, to slide his hands under Danny's hips and grip his ass, to lift and tilt him at just the right angle so Stiles could dip his head and swipe his tongue across Danny's hole.

He hadn't _expected_ it, but he certainly wasn't complaining. One of the things that Danny loved about Stiles was that he didn't just do things to get Danny off – he did them because he enjoyed it too, because he got off on it almost as much as Danny. Stiles moved eagerly, enthusiastically, always put everything he had into what he was doing, and Danny was definitely benefitting from it.

The noises Stiles made as he mouthed at Danny almost did more for him than the feeling of the tongue sliding over him, pressing into him. Danny wasn't hard again, not yet, but he was getting there, his dick was starting to swell, thickening slowly.

When Danny was halfway erect Stiles sucked gently on the sensitive skin under his lips then pulled back with mischief coloring his expression.

"I better enjoy this while I can," he said quietly, his lips and chin shiny from spit, "who knows if I'll be able to get my tongue in you once it's pierced."

"_Stiles_."

"Do you think I could? I mean…I could still lick you. I could still drag my tongue across your hole and maybe that would feel even better for you with a piercing. But do you think I could get it right in there the way I like? Could I wiggle my tongue in past that muscle and spear you on it or would the steel bar get in the way?"

If Danny had had any doubts about whether Stiles could make good on his promises, they were long gone. He was almost fully hard again just hearing Stiles' words and he knew without a shadow of a doubt Stiles wouldn't just leave it at that.

"Maybe picture that," Stiles suggested, then sunk his teeth into the muscle of Danny's right ass cheek, close enough to his opening to make his balls twitch. "Just, you know, ponder it for a while and tell me whether you think it would work."

"I hate you so much." Danny tried to glower, but he was pretty sure it lost its effectiveness when his hand wrapped around his own cock against his will.

"Nope. You already said you love me. No take-backs."

Stiles' mouth was on him again before he could respond; movements far more deliberate, more pointed, than before. Whenever Stiles dragged his tongue he did it slowly, carefully, circling Danny's rim with the flat instead of the tip. The way he pressed the center of his tongue down as he circled had Danny picturing – even _feeling_ – a metal ball that wasn't there. He could feel it dipping and bumping; gliding easily where his skin was smooth, catching where it was puckered. Danny's skin felt twitchy, delicate, dancing back and forth between ticklish and electric, until Stiles pressed his tongue firmly past the ring of muscle until it was inside him.

The noise he made was needy and embarrassing, but that didn't matter because Stiles was twisting and curling his tongue as much as Danny's ass would allow. He wasn't sure how he managed to consider it seriously past the sensations he was feeling – could only assume it was the way Stiles had questioned him so intently – but he found himself thinking logically about what Stiles was doing. He thought how it would work with a bar through the center of his tongue, how it probably couldn't get far enough in to matter, not really, but it could still _work_. Stiles' tongue could still spear and lap and coil until Danny was crying out, the bar could rest and rub against his opening; the tiny steel balls maybe pushing against the tender skin of his hole, slipping just barely in and out as Stiles worked him open.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck_.

His skin was buzzing and his stomach was clenching. He was hot all over, breath as shallow as it had been earlier and dick so hard that he knew he'd be leaking again soon. He needed Stiles so much, needed more than his tongue and couldn't stop the hand he had around his cock from stroking, from seeking some relief.

Danny was torn between pushing up into his fist and rocking back onto Stiles' tongue – trying to do both but not quite managing either – when Stiles sat up and swiped the back of his hand haphazardly across his mouth.

"So, what do you think? Would it work?" His voice sounded calm and steady even though one look made it clear Stiles was anything but. His ribcage was rising and falling faster than it should be, and his chest looked damp with sweat. Danny wanted to touch it, to run his fingers along the warm skin from Stiles' neck to his navel, but Stiles was raising his eyebrow because Danny hadn't answered.

"I think…shit…I think I need you to fuck me before I go insane."

"Well, I like the sound of that," Stiles admitted while he leaned over and pulled a tube of lubricant and a condom from his bedside table, waving them in front of Danny, "but that's not what I asked."

Stiles slicked up two fingers, rubbing them against the soft skin under Danny's balls and sliding them until they brushed over his entrance. Danny tried to push down onto them, but Stiles moved when he did, not letting his digits slip inside.

"_Please_."

For a moment, Stiles' expression changed like he was going to give in, but then he shook his head as if clearly away the cobwebs. "That's…" he licked his lips and shook his head again. "Tell me what you think. I wanna hear it."

"I think," Danny gasped when fingers moved against his hole, pressure persistent but not enough to breach the ring of muscle. Stiles didn't go any further, just waited, and Danny took the hint. "I think it would work. I—yeah, it would work."

Stiles pressed in further and Danny felt himself stretching, though the burn was negligible. He knew there had to be some resistance but he could barely tell; he just wanted more.

"Jesus, Danny, you're so fucking ready. I should make you pre-game shoot every time if it's going to relax you so much." His fingers scissored inside Danny, opening him up a little further, the stretch deepening until the probing digits disappeared and Stiles tugged off his boxers, exposing his erection, flushed with fluid gathering on the steel ring. "Turn over, then tell me more, okay?"

Danny was on his hands and knees before Stiles had finished speaking, encouraged by the sound of foil tearing and the slippery noise that he recognized as slicking lube over latex. Fingers pushed into him again, thicker this time – three maybe – but they were gone in seconds; one last check that he was ready rather than an attempt to loosen him any further. Then Stiles was lined up and firm against him, teasing him with slight brushes but not enough pressure.

A warm weight draped across Danny's back, followed by a wet line tracing his spine carefully where it separated his shoulder blades; the flat of Stiles' tongue running purposefully along the dip between them. It was a reminder.

"It-it would work," Danny repeated, breath catching when Stiles straightened away from Danny's back and rocked towards him, cock head momentarily breaching him, just a little, before sliding back out. Stiles let out a soft moan behind him, gripped his hips tighter as his thighs flexed where they were pressed along Danny's, but Danny could tell Stiles wouldn't give in, that he was determined. "You're right about…about licking me. It'd feel good," he flashed back to the idea of Stiles' tongue stud dragging along his hole and he jerked his hips back involuntarily but uselessly, "_so_…so good. Sliding and c-_catching _on…_yeah_." He paused and swallowed, trying to ease the dryness in his throat. "But when you put y-your tongue _inside_—" Danny's words cut off when Stiles pushed in slowly. He tried to wriggle back, tried to take Stiles deeper, but Stiles had a tight hold on his hips.

"What— what would happen?"

"—_fuck_. It wouldn't go in, the bar I mean…I don't think…it'd—it'd just sit at the edge…just press and rub there—_oh_."

Stiles was all the way inside him, finally, pumping gently and shallowly, angling away from Danny's prostate. Danny knew what Stiles was trying to do – knew he was easing Danny into it – but it still felt amazing, still made his thigh muscles clench and his cock jerk towards his abs.

"Would it…" Stiles voice had pitched so much lower, rougher, and he was breathing unevenly, "…would it feel good like that?"

The thrusts were getting deeper and harder. Danny's hands were fisting the sheets under him as he rocked back into them, trying to breathe through the shocks of pleasure darting up his spine. "_Yes_. Shit, Stiles, it'd be _so fucking_ _good_."

"Yeah? _God_ that's..."

Without warning Stiles sped up and was rutting into him solidly; the muscle of his thighs slapped against the back of Danny's legs until the skin there was tingling. There was an ache in Danny's hips and he knew he'd have marks when they were done but he didn't care because he could feel his orgasm steadily building.

"Fuck waiting for college," Stiles grunted. "I'm getting my tongue pierced as soon as I turn eighteen and my piercer won't get arrested."

That sentence probably shouldn't have made Danny's balls tighten the way it did. He moaned and tried to fist his dick, but Stiles' hand was there pushing his hand away.

"No, not yet," Stiles told him, "just...just get on your back."

When Stiles pulled out, Danny protested with something much too close to a whimper. Then he was being coaxed to roll over and he obeyed, burying the back of his head into a pillow and letting his legs fall wide. Stiles sunk between them, bent Danny's knees until they were looped over his elbows, and slid back inside with one long, even stroke.

"_Stiles, fuck_!" Danny's voice was broken, wrecked, but that wasn't important because Stiles' dick was stabbing and sliding along his spot, sending sharp spikes of electricity along his nerve endings and through his cock.

Danny's hips were tilted off the bed, rocking with each movement as Stiles drove into him, aiming right for his prostate with every surge in. Danny almost couldn't breathe; the constant rub of Stiles' shaft across his prostate was only interrupted by the harsh bump of the steel ring. Every time it nudged him, hard and unyielding, Danny lost the air in his lungs and his vision blurred.

He was close – he _had _to be – every stroke left him sure he would come, built him even higher, coiled him even tighter. His skin was slick with sweat; he could feel it trickling along his hairline as his heart was pounding in his throat and his muscles shook. Danny could feel his mouth moving, he was making noise – he _knew_ he was – but he didn't know what he was saying, if he were using actual sentences, or even words. He thought he'd said Stiles name a few times, but he wasn't sure of anything else.

Stiles leaned in to slam their lips together in a wet, messy kiss. It wasn't until then, when the steadily leaking head of Danny's erection slid along Stiles' torso, Danny realized that despite everything he was feeling, despite all the sensations crawling under his skin and rocketing through his body, his cock had been left alone and untouched.

When Danny slid his hand between them Stiles must have realized the same, because he broke out of the kiss to watch Danny's face intently. "Yeah, yeah, now. Fuck, Danny, I wanna see you."

Danny tried to nod, maybe succeeded, as he slithered his hand through the slippery gap between their stomachs to grip himself firmly. He tried to move his fist in time with Stiles' thrusts but it was pointless, in seconds he was crying out, vision dimming as he came hard and shot in thick ropes across their chests.

Stiles didn't stop rocking into him, working his spot right up until the grey spots dancing across Danny's eyes finally cleared. When Danny blinked the last of them away, still dazed but no longer on the verge of passing out, he could feel Stiles shift and the friction against that electric place inside him eased.

"Damn," Stiles bit out with a moan, beautiful honey eyes squeezing shut, "next time, then."

There was something behind that – a meaning Danny couldn't quite catch, a memory that was wispy and too hard to grasp when Danny was burrowed in a blanket of contentment. He wasn't worried, it wasn't bad – that much he remembered – how could it be bad when Stiles was with him, inside him?

He didn't know how long it took Stiles to finish, how long Stiles spent fucking into him while Danny was just edging on the wrong side of too sensitive, but it didn't matter because he was drifting on a blissed out haze. Stiles eventually tensed, cried out, pumped shallowly until he was spent, and Danny forced himself to fight past the fogginess in his brain, to lift his heavy arms past the lethargy until he could circle them around Stiles. He didn't like when Stiles slipped out of him, when he fidgeted between them and moved almost out of his reach for too long, for seconds that felt like minutes that felt like _hours_, before he was back, nudging Danny's legs until they were stretched out on the bed. Danny finally managed to tug his boyfriend down to rest on his chest until the welcome weight and heat of Stiles in his arms settled Danny into his afterglow.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

A dress shirt that Stiles thought looked exactly the same as the one he was already wearing appeared suddenly, its sleeve narrowly missing his right eye as it draped over the top of the change room door. He still couldn't believe he was shopping with Lydia and Jackson of all people. The things he did for love.

"Here, try these on, too," Lydia's voice came through the door and Stiles jerked in surprise, slamming his elbow into the wall behind him.

"This area is for _men_, Lydia! These are the change rooms – I know you can read!"

"Seriously, Stiles?" The impatience in her voice was so cutting, Stiles glanced down to make sure he wasn't bleeding all over the not-yet-purchased shirt. "There were two different mothers and a _grandmother_ here earlier. I'm pretty sure I won't be getting thrown into jail for this."

"Oh my _God_, Lydia, you are not a mother and that is not _nearly _the same thing. What are you _doing_ here?"

"Oh, please. Jackson's dad would have any charges dropped in seconds. Besides, these guys _wish_ I'd try peeking at them."

"Let me rephrase that. What am _I_ doing here?" Stiles muttered – mostly to himself, but loud enough to make his point.

"You're here," Lydia answered, as though Stiles' question hadn't been obviously rhetorical, "because you need to look gorgeous for the Homecoming Dance, and the best way for you to do that is to let me dress you. So try on the damn shirt before I send Jackson in there to put it on you himself."

"Danny thinks I look gorgeous as I am." Even as he spoke, Stiles knew Lydia had a point. Danny had made it perfectly clear when Lydia suggested this outing that he didn't care what Stiles wore, but Stiles wanted to surprise him. That had been the main reason he'd been relieved when Lydia had told Danny in no uncertain terms that he was not invited on their shopping trip.

Of course, at the time Stiles hadn't realized he'd be forced to spend the afternoon with _Jackson_ as well. He unbuttoned the shirt he was wearing and pulled the new one on before Lydia could make good on her threat.

"Danny is a sap. Besides, the two of you are going to be sharing a table with me and Jackson. We can't have you bringing down the collective attractiveness of the group by wearing something that doesn't match or doesn't fit. Now stop arguing and show me."

Stiles gave up the cuffs as a lost cause – someone would need to help him with those. He tugged the dress pants on over his boxers, hurrying when he heard a loud crack and the door handle fell to the floor. The door flew open while Stiles was still doing up his fly; he hadn't gotten even close to buttoning up the shirt.

He pulled the flaps of the shirt together as quickly as he could, but Jackson's eyes were wide and staring at the place where his navel had been visible a moment before.

"What is _that_?"

"N-nothing. I mean, what the hell? Get out, dude. And did you just _break the door handle_?"

Lydia's head peered around Jackson. "Well? How does it – oh. Really, Stiles? What is taking you so long? Button it up, tuck it in, and let's see what it looks like with this tie. And do you have an undershirt already or do we need to get you one?"

Stiles turned his back on them to button up his shirt, aware from the Lydia's snort – how ladylike – that he probably looked ridiculous, hiding his body like a blushing virgin in one of those romance novels Scott's mom pretended she didn't read.

Whatever. His piercings weren't for public consumption – not even the innocent one, considering he wanted to keep both his jeep and his freedom. Bars on his windows would suck.

He only got one button done up before he was spun around and pushed back into the wall, Jackson tugging his shirt open.

"Hey Jack-Ass," Stiles snapped, trying to ignore how vulnerable he felt to focus on being pissed off instead, "I'm a one-man man, and I'm pretty sure it's in poor taste to molest a guy in front of your girlfriend."

"In your dreams, Ball-Sack. What the fuck is _this_?" Jackson demanded as he flicked the barbell in Stiles' navel. That was not cool – _no one_ was allowed to do that except Danny…and Stiles himself.

Stiles slapped Jackson's hand away, ignoring the way it stung his palm when Jackson probably didn't even feel it.

"First of all, _ow_. In case you hadn't noticed that's attached, so flicking it hard like that? Not cool. Second, hands off the merchandise, because I'm not selling." Stiles smirked when Jackson rolled his eyes and folded his arms across his chest, visibly annoyed. "And third, it's a navel piercing, what the fuck does it look like?"

"When did you get that done, Stiles?" Lydia hadn't come any closer, but she was leaning forward a little and looking at Stiles with too much scrutiny for his comfort. "How long did it take to heal? Did you have any adverse reactions?"

"As much as I'm sure I would have loved you being fascinated with my body once upon a time, Lydia, you're looking at me like I'm a science experiment and it's creepy."

Lydia blinked and straightened. "Well then, I guess you should hurry up and put the shirt on properly. We still have to find you the right suit."

"What's wrong with _this one_?"

"_Really_, Stiles?"

"Are you both fucking _kidding me_?" Jackson ground out. "Forget the stupid clothes – does Danny know about this?"

For all Jackson was a douchebag, he didn't normally say stupid things, so Stiles wasn't going to let that opportunity slip by. "Danny? You mean my boyfriend of several months? Why, of _course_ not! That would be _improper_ and our chaperone would _never_ allow him to see under my petticoats unless we were wed!"

"Shut up, asshole. You could have just gotten it done."

"No, Jackson. We mere humans don't heal instantly, I'm sure you remember. Yes, Danny knows, obviously. And since you are so interested, _he loves it._" Stiles smirked at the way Jackson's face twisted.

"Wait – is that why you made that comment about getting your tongue pierced?" Jackson's expression changed suddenly and he shook his head in disgust. "God, no, don't answer that. Ever. I do_ not_ want to know."

"Well, since you _mentioned it—"_

Lydia huffed. "Stiles, stop tormenting Jackson. Jackson, stop being a big baby. At least _try_ not to act like twelve year olds when you are with me in public."

"I'm sorry Lydia, you're totally right."

"Ass-kisser," Jackson grumbled, wincing when Lydia turned her glare on him.

With her focus on Jackson, Stiles took advantage of the moment to mouth '_oh yeah_' in reply and waggle his eyebrows until Jackson looked physically ill.

"Whatever you're doing, Stiles, quit it," Lydia said without so much as a glance in his direction. "And Jackson, stop being such a sore loser. It's beneath you."

Stiles and Jackson shared a look filled with confusion and mutual dislike before Stiles caught on and laughed, pumping his fist in the air. "Yea-hehe! That's right, Whittemore, you made a _bet_."

Jackson paled and his jaw clenched. Stiles took a moment to savor the look on Jackson's face then grinned and clasped him on the shoulder.

"Aww, don't worry, buddy," Stiles laughed and held his hands up innocently when Jackson shrugged him off roughly, "I'm not going to make you give up your Porsche _forever_."

"I am _not_ letting you or McCall drive my—"

"_Relax_," Stiles answered with a smirk, plans already forming in his head. He almost pressed his fingers together in a steeple before deciding action-movie villains were significantly cooler than cartoon villains and raised an eyebrow instead. "I'm sure we can come up with a suitable compromise."

* * *

"Come on, Jackson. It's not that bad," Danny reasoned.

Jackson didn't answer in favor of fuming and glaring into his cup. He'd been so snappy all night that Stiles had dragged Lydia on the dance floor to give Danny a chance to talk to Jackson. Danny suspected it was also to stop Lydia from adopting Jackson's bad mood since they were going to be in a car with her later. "Man, hardly anyone even saw you."

"Except half the grade and the entire lacrosse team!"

When Jackson's jaw tensed like that, it was definitely time to change the subject.

"Forget about them. They're just jealous you can bike all the way from your place without breaking a sweat. We're still on for tomorrow, right? Just you, me, pizza and bro time?"

"Yeah, whatever," Jackson paused and frowned over at the dance floor, where Stiles was flailing around Lydia, who looked graceful and pretended not to notice. "Just...no girlfriends – and yes, I mean Stilinski."

"Don't call him a gi—" Danny narrowed his eyes at Jackson's smirk. Jackson was deliberately baiting him and if Danny was falling for it he really _had_ been spending too much time away from his best friend. "_Whatever_. You know I wasn't going to invite him. I'm thinking we should start around lunchtime tomorrow and we could make a weekend of it. All of the Batman movies, including the Nolan ones, then maybe some C.O.D. on Sunday?"

"You just want to get your nerd-perve on. And if I hear you say _one more time_ that Christian Bale is the best Batman, I swear I'll eat all the pizza and force feed you the box it came in. You're just biased because you think he's hot."

Danny shrugged and grinned. "You only like Val Kilmer because of that time in sixth grade when everyone was calling you Iceman. That's not even the same movie franchise, and you still have the aviators you bought because of it."

"Shut up, Mahealani. I don't even know why I'm friends with you," Jackson complained. He downed the last of his drink and slammed the plastic cup down dramatically.

"Love you too, Jackson."

Jackson scoffed and kicked Danny's foot. "I knew I was your type."

"_Stiles_ is my type."

"Stilinski is an _asshole_."

"Well, there you go, you do have something in common," Danny joked. When Jackson just frowned at him, Danny sighed. "Man, you need to chill out, okay? You're just pissed because you totally underestimated him and now you have to suffer for it. Anyway, you already rode here; the worst part is over. You just need to ride home after."

"This suit is _Versace_, Danny."

"And it got here in one piece. It'll survive the trip back, I'm sure. Now stop being such a dick. You're the one who made the bet. Stiles wasn't even going to tell you that you lost."

Jackson was glaring at Danny, as if he could get Danny on his side if he looked bratty for long enough. Except Danny had known Jackson far too long to cave; he learned a long time ago when to back down and when to stand his ground or Jackson would walk all over him.

"Whatever," Jackson snorted when Danny didn't react. "Just don't forget you're dropping Lydia off at my place. I swear to God, Danny, I don't care _what_ gross sexual favors Stilinski offers you, do _not_ let him drive my car."

"You're the idiot who said you would trade your Porsche for McCall's bike. You should count yourself lucky Stiles didn't take advantage of your ego and make you follow through; it could have been way worse than you riding a pushbike to and from the dance and lending us your car."

"Lending _you_ my car," Jackson insisted.

"Complain all you want, but Stiles already drove it."

Danny was probably more entertained than he should be by the way Jackson was spluttering, but he was being such a drama queen. "You had better be joking! I've seen him drive, Danny, he's a fucking menace! How you could let him touch my car? I'm your best friend, dude, bros before ho's!"

"What are we, pre-teen swaggies? I don't want to know what Lydia would do if she heard you say that. And Stiles is a perfectly safe driver."

Jackson stared at Danny in disbelief, which was weird. Danny had been in Stiles' car with him dozens of times without any issues, and yeah, the jeep was in the shop more often than most cars, but it was pretty old so that was only to be expected. Jackson said something about driving through walls, but it was under his breath and quiet enough Danny couldn't catch most of it.

"Anyway," Danny joked, trying to break the sudden tension when he saw Lydia and Stiles making their way back to the table, "a pierced man is a dangerous man. I wouldn't want to get on Stiles' bad side."

"It's a fucking girl's piercing anyway," Jackson snapped, half a second before Lydia appeared beside him, looking furious.

"Oh I _know_ you didn't just make a sexist comment, Jackson."

When Jackson flinched, looking startled for half a second before freezing his face into a stubborn mask, Danny almost felt sorry for him.

"And if you did," Lydia continued, "don't think I won't spend the _entire_ night making you understand the problems with patriarchy and misogyny in our society, instead of doing that thing you like but are too embarrassed to do to yourself. Gender roles are so passé, aren't they?"

Stiles was standing behind Lydia and Jackson, eyes wide and mouth opening to speak. He looked like all of his Christmases had come at once, and Danny shook his head warningly. Jackson was already embarrassed enough. Stiles looked disappointed, but he didn't say anything and Danny started thinking of creative ways to thank him later.

Lydia demanded that Jackson dance with her when Stiles dropped into the seat next to Danny. She was tapping her foot expectantly and Jackson stood with an eye roll that Danny could tell was mostly for show. He wasn't sure he'd ever understand their relationship, but he knew Jackson and Lydia loved each other, even when they were slinging barbs. "Fine," Jackson replied, his voice thick with sarcasm. "Are you going to lead, too?"

"Only if you're worried about your ability to perform," Lydia said sweetly. Stiles stifled a laugh, choking on his drink, and Lydia batted her eyelashes. As if she was fooling any of them with that expression.

They had just started towards the dance floor, Lydia's hand slipping into Jackson's, when Stiles leaned towards Danny and asked loudly, "Hey, you didn't tell Jackson about the dent in his hood, right?"

When Jackson spun around, face twisted and horrified, Stiles started cackling like a hyena. Danny had to bite his lip almost bloody to keep a straight face; Stiles was literally falling on him from laughing so much.

"Oh dude, no. Seriously. I'm just kidding. The look on your _face_," Stiles gasped for breath and buried his face in Danny's collar, still shaking from laughter.

Jackson glared at Stiles for ages before he stormed off so fast that Lydia struggled to keep up.

"You're such a dick sometimes, Stiles," Danny whispered with a snicker once Jackson was on the dance floor.

"Yeah," Stiles nodded as he pulled away, wiping tears from his eyes. "_But his face, though_."

* * *

**End Notes:** If anyone wonders who Nate Walters is, I just gave a random name to the guy who Danny called out on staring at Lydia's cleavage in the lunch room in S1. Also, I realize that tongue piercings don't actually feel that prominent since the ball sort of sinks into the muscle of the tongue with any pressure (although you can sort of _make_ it stick out and more easily felt but I'm totally getting off topic), but Danny's never felt it and he imagines it would.

And if anyone is interested, I've written two short fics that are sort of like interludes for scenes in this fic in the POV of two other characters.


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